Читать книгу Boxes: Shocking, hilarious and poignant noir - Pascal Garnier - Страница 10

The timbre of the church bell varied, depending on the wind. It ranged from the whine of an electric saw to the radiating waves of a gong. Thus it not only told the time, but what kind of day it was. Today was a gong day, with a heavy bronze sky that weighed down on you. Brice had indeed gone to Brico-whatsit as planned, but once he had parked in the car park and seen the never-ending coming and going of the half-man, half-bear creatures shifting heavy loads – wooden beams, metal rails, bags of cement, oil cans – he was gripped by a kind of terror which paralysed him for a good fifteen minutes. It brought back memories of military service, or the area around a stadium, or anywhere men were all together. He refused to turn back, however, and, in awkward imitation of the lumbering gait of a man who knows what he has to do, he ventured head down into the store.

They had thought of everything here. There were all sorts of screws, hammers to drive nails into corners, saws for cutting on the diagonal, glues for sticking anything to everything, spiral staircases that could be put up in ten seconds, paints to hide every sin, real wood, fake wood, marvellous tools for weird and wonderful purposes, and all of them beautiful, red, yellow, green and chrome, like Christmas toys. Brice had no idea what to choose. He went for a five-kilo sledgehammer on sale for next to nothing. It was the first time he had bought a five-kilo sledgehammer. He was more than a little proud. Emma would certainly have approved of his purchase.

Nothing is as soothing as watching a saucepan of water come to the boil. Brice had just plunged two eggs into the merrily moving bubbles when the phone rang for the first time since he had lived there. The sound was so incongruous that he reacted only at the fourth ring. The girl on the line was nervously offering him a wonderful fitted kitchen. Brice declined, and thanked her. No sooner had he hung up than the phone was gripped anew by the same noisy fever, making the house tremble from cellar to attic.

‘Hello, is that Brice?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Myriam. How are you?’

That was quite a question his mother-in-law had landed on him.

‘Oh, fine, fine.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, you know, when you’ve just moved into a new house it’s always a little …’

‘Oh, I quite understand. You know, Simon and I are thinking of you.’

‘That’s kind.’

‘It’s all so … so … We were thinking of dropping by this weekend.’

‘Oh, I’d love that, but the house isn’t ready yet. There’s still a lot to do and …’

‘Exactly. We could give you a hand. You know how keen on DIY Simon is. And I’m sure you could use a woman for your washing and cooking. We all know what a man on his own is like.’

‘Honestly, I’m managing very well. I’m just putting up some shelves. Emma would be cross to think I’d entertained you in a building site. I’ve no wish to get told off when she comes back.’

‘Brice.’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you still taking the medication Dr Boaert prescribed?’

‘Of course.’

‘Brice … you need help. You know quite well we’re going through the same as you. You mustn’t let yourself go. We’ll be stronger, the three of us together. I’m sure Emma would have agreed with me. Brice?’

Silence.

‘Brice, are you listening to me?’

‘Yes, Myriam. I’m sorry but I have some eggs on the stove. I’ll have to hang up now.’

‘Think about what I’m saying, Brice. We’re very fond of you.’

‘Me too, Myriam. Give Simon a hug from me. Thanks. I’ll call you soon!’

He threw down the receiver as if it were a dead animal and unplugged the cord.